Lover's Tiff
by Sauron Gorthaur
Summary: During a heated quarrel, Marianne lashes out at Bog with the most hurtful thing she can think to say to him. Separated, bitter, and angry, the two lovers must decide whether the incident will drive them apart...or bring them even closer together than before.
1. Part I

**Lover's Tiff  
** **by Sauron Gorthaur**

Part I

"I'm telling you, it won't work," Marianne said stiffly, her arms folded tightly across her chest, frowning at the goblin king standing several paces away at his table.

Bog's wings fluttered irritably. "You don't know that," he said, stubbornly examining the map laid out in front of him.

Marianne made a sound of frustration, lifting a hand to the heavens. "Oh right, I've just lived with fairies my whole life, so I'm sure I have _no idea_ how they'll react."

Bog turned to glare at her, his dark brows creasing and his mouth curving down into a grumpy expression. "You're the one who suggested the idea of a treaty and of my folk interacting more with yours. You don't know it won't work until we try it. Or would you prefer we just give up on the whole thing right now?"

Heat rose in Marianne's cheeks, and her heart was beating faster than usual. Her wings itched unpleasantly. "That's not what I said. That's not even remotely what I said," she stated, waving her hand emphatically. "All I said is that the Midsummer Ball is _not_ a good time to attempt our very first collaboration. There are fairy traditions upon traditions upon traditions surrounding the Midsummer Ball."

"There's blasted traditions upon traditions upon traditions with _everything_ with you fairies!" Bog groused back. "If we use that as criteria, we're never going to get anywhere. It sounds to me like you don't want to try anymore, so why don't we just lay the idea to rest?"

"You are totally blowing this out of proportion!" Marianne retorted, her voice rising. "You know what I think, I think you're _scared_ of trying to make this work!"

Bog turned fully towards her, anger flashing dark across his face now. His shoulder spurs rustled threateningly. "I am not scared!" he gritted. "But I'm most definitely beginning to think you are!"

Marianne threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Oh, _I'm_ scared? I'm the one who suggested the idea about a collaboration in the first place!"

"Then why aren't you listening to anything I suggest about it?!"

"Because _you're_ not listening to anything _I'm_ trying to tell you about it!"

Bog stepped towards her, jabbing a clawed finger at her face. "I _have_ listened. I have listened till I was blue in the face, and _every time_ I make a bloody suggestion, you shoot it down. It's because I'm a goblin, isn't it? You probably think I'm an unsophisticated savage who's too stupid to understand your cultured traditions. That's what all you fairies think of us goblins, isn't it?"

Marianne refused to let him intimidate her. She flared her wings instead and stepped up even closer into his space, her cheeks burning with anger. "Oh sure, make it all about _you_! How typical! The minute anyone contradicts you or suggests an alternative to what you've already set your mind to, it turns into a personal attack against you. Well fine, almighty Bog King! If you're so much better than all of us fairies, why don't you go sit your almighty behind in your almighty throne and just forget that I mentioned anything at all, Your Majesty!"

His eyes flashed with rage. "You've got an awfully ugly attitude, Princess," he snarled, shoving his face uncomfortably close to hers and baring his fangs. "I'd watch myself, if I were you."

The anger and raw frustration inside Marianne had built to the breaking point. The next moment, she was roaring back into his face, the words flying out of her mouth with the deadly precision of a sword strike.

"Oh yeah? Well at least I'm not ugly on the outside too!"

Something deep inside her twinged with guilt the very second the words had escaped her lips, but she was so angry that she hardly had time to consider it. Bog reacted instantly, rearing back away from her, and the expression that flashed across his face was similar to what it might have been if she had punched him. Shocked agony registered in his eyes for a split second before his face twisted into something monstrous. His shoulder spurs flared ferociously, his wings hissing, and his eyes glistened with baleful rage and hurt. His lips curled back into a full bestial snarl. "Get. Out."

Marianne suddenly felt sick to her stomach, her anger draining away to dread as the sight of his transformation hit her like a blow to the gut. _Oh skies, what had she just done?_

"Bog?" she said, her voice wavering, the sick feeling swelling in her stomach.

He turned his back to her, but she could see him shaking. She tried to reach out towards him and touch his arm, but he whirled around and seized her wrist, his claws sharp and cruel against her skin. His eyes looked like they belonged to someone else.

"Get out," he repeated, his voice low and threatening. "Get out before I hurt you."

"Fine!" she spat back at him, wrenching her wrist out of his grasp. "Fine, I'm going!"

She reeled around, snapping her wings open in his face, and took off with a gust of swirling air. Every limb was trembling, her heart pounding a mad beat in her chest, her stomach flipping until she thought she would vomit in the middle of the castle floor. Tears of helpless rage and stinging pain flooded into her eyes, but she didn't dare wipe them away in case _he_ was still watching and saw. She tore out of the castle and flew blindly back towards the Fairy Kingdom, a sensation in her chest as if her heart was being slowly ripped in two spreading through her like poison.

 _What had she done?_


	2. Part II

Part II

Curled into a tight, miserable ball, her face pressed down into the petals of her bed, Marianne re-lived that gut-wrenching afternoon again and again and again all night long.

She had ground her teeth until her jaw ached, tears of impotent anger oozing out of her eyes. It was Bog's own stupid fault. She had tried to be reasonable with him, but oh no, he'd had to shove her aside and act like he knew better. He'd had to treat her like some air-headed little fairy girl who had no idea what she was babbling about. If he'd just listened to what she had to say, if he'd just stopped being such a thick-skulled, self-centered jerk for just a moment, she never would have said what she had said. He deserved it for treating her like that.

Stupid, ugly goblin. With his stupid, pointy nose. And his stupid pinecone head. And his stupid blue eyes that had stared at her with such devastated pain…

The feeling that started to seep in was even worse than the simmering anger and resentment. Bog might have been acting like a jerk, but she hadn't behaved any better than he had. In the pit of her stomach, she knew full well that what she'd said had been a dirty low blow, purposefully preying on the spot where she knew he was weakest. Her mind's eye kept showing her the moment on Bog's face when her words had sunk in: the sudden raw pain in his eyes, the devastation, and the injured betrayal before his anger had set in. Marianne hugged herself tighter, eyes squeezed shut, but nothing could block out the uncomfortable knowledge that she had inflicted a terrible wound on the man she loved.

Because, despite her frustration and anger and self-righteous indignation, the ache gnawing at her very soul and the nausea still swirling in her stomach told the truth of just how much she still loved him. And how afraid she was that she had lost him forever.

She swallowed, shivering miserably, as her thoughts moved on to all the wonderful times they'd shared over the past three months. What if he refused to ever speak to her again? What if she never had the chance again to sink into the beautiful blue of his eyes and see them smiling back at her? What if they never cuddled again, or flirted, or kissed? What if he closed his kingdom to her kind, resurrected the ban on love, and everything went back to the way it had been before that Fateful Night, except that now she would know what she was missing out on beyond that border? And it would be her fault.

Tears fell now, real tears born of regret for what she'd done and sorrow for what might now be lost. She buried her face deep in her bed and sobbed brokenly. Something inside her soul felt jagged and shattered, a seething, roiling mess of sharp edges that she hadn't felt since that terrible morning when she'd seen Roland with that green-winged girl.

After she'd cried all the tears she had to cry, her thoughts settled into a single conviction.

She wasn't going to lose him without a fight. Even if Bog wanted nothing more to do with her ever again, Marianne was going to do her best to make things right with her lover. And if they ended up parting ways, she would at least know that she had done everything in her power to try to salvage their relationship.

After coming to that determination, she finally found her way into a restless sleep.

~o~o~o~

First thing in the morning, Marianne flew to the Dark Forest.

A thousand excuses had shoved their way through her mind as to why she should postpone the trip, but she knew that if she put it off she would not end up going today nor the next day nor the next, and the window of opportunity for her to fix this would slip beyond her reach. So she steeled herself instead and started for the goblin realm as soon as the sun showed above the meadows.

By now, she knew her way around the new castle and all the goblins of Bog's court were used to seeing the fairy princess in their forest. Not sure where Bog might have holed himself up, she headed to the throne room first.

Stuff and Thang were there, working on replacing an amber lantern in the wall sconce behind the throne. The shards of the previous one had been swept into a sad little pile in the corner. Marianne winced, having all too good a guess about how it had happened.

As she entered, the two goblins continued talking to each other, not noticing her presence.

"No, it doesn't go there. You have to hold it higher."

"Sorry."

Marianne cleared her throat and both goblins jumped, turning around to face her. "Princess Marianne!" Thang said in an overly bright voice.

"Where's Bog?" Marianne asked bluntly.

Both of them instantly looked like they were sitting on a briar patch. "He's out," Stuff answered in a stiff voice.

"Yeah, he's, uhhh, checking on the mushrooms up north," Thang put in, not quite meeting Marianne's eyes.

She put a hand on her hip. "And when will he be back?"

"Tomorrow," Stuff put in.

"Yeah, yeah, definitely not until tomorrow."

Marianne fixed them both with an icy stare. "Did he tell you the part about the mushrooms or did you just make that bit up on your own?" When Stuff folded her arms and Thang started babbling incoherent excuses, Marianne held up her hand with an exasperated sigh and turned away. "Oh well, it's not like I thought he'd make this easy anyway. I'll just find him myself."

The other goblins seemed equally reluctant to hand over any information about their king and they were noticeably more nervous than usual around her. Evidently, Bog had made it crystal clear to his servants that the Princess Marianne was in his disfavor.

Brutus muttered something about Bog taking care of a fungal rot that had been spotted somewhere off to the east. Parrot-beaked Ratchet had a story about a message from the powries arriving late last night about something or other that Bog needed to see to right away. Caliban just growled and bared his long, needle-sharp teeth at her. Marianne rolled her eyes and headed towards the kitchens.

Griselda was making up a batch of pastries, humming to herself as she worked by the small, carefully-tended fire. The short troll woman turned around to place a finished batch on the table and noticed Marianne in the doorway. She chuckled. "I was just looking for someone to test out my new recipe. Blueberry crumpet, sweetie?"

Even though Marianne hardly felt like eating, she took the proffered treat and nibbled the corner of it. "Hmmm, it's delicious."

A wide grin split Griselda's face. She turned back to the fire. "Bog's locked himself up in his room."

Marianne lowered the pastry, raising her eyebrows. "He didn't order you to tell me he was out?"

Griselda chuckled. "Oh, believe me, he did." She turned to wink at Marianne. "I happen to be his mother though _and_ the former queen of the Dark Forest, so I figure I'm able to override his decisions when he's being an overgrown baby."

Marianne couldn't help but smile before the gravity of the situation sunk in again. "Is he very angry?"

"Oh hoho, I haven't seen my boy throw a tantrum like that since he was four and I wouldn't let him keep a baby garden snake he'd found as a pet. He was buzzing around the castle last night like a nest of hornets," Griselda said brightly.

"Oh," Marianne said in a hollow voice.

Griselda placed a kind hand on Marianne's arm. "Now, don't you go worrying yourself. He likes to pretend he's the biggest, toughest beast in the Forest, but I think we both know the truth, don't we, sweetie?"

Marianne gave her a shy smile. "You're not angry that I upset him?"

"Pssssh." Griselda waved a hand. "You're both young, you're both in love, and you're both as stubborn as swamp mud under a boggan's fingernails. You two were bound to butt heads eventually, and I doubt very much that this'll be the last time either. The sooner you two learn how to patch up a fight with each other, the better. You'll be off right away to talk to him, I assume?"

Marianne sighed. "Better get it over with sooner rather than later."

Griselda caught her arm as she turned. "He'll try to get under your skin, get you fighting with him again, but don't you let him bait you. Stay level-headed and don't let him push you away or shut you out. Keep persisting, let him know you're sorry and you love him, and you'll break through to him quicker than you think. He's far too in love with you to ignore a genuine apology and the promise of some make-up cuddles."

Marianne put a hand over Griselda's for a moment. "Thanks, Griselda."

"Oh, anytime, sweetie." The troll smiled and waddled back over to the fire. "You make that boy feel wanted and special, and you'll have his heart back in no time." She made a shooing motion. "Now go on. Kiss and make up with him." She pointed a finger at Marianne. "And I _don't_ mean that metaphorically."


	3. Part III

Part III

It had been a solid five minutes, and Marianne was still working up the courage to knock on Bog's door. She curled her hand into a fist, half-raising it to the imposing wooden barrier that stood between herself and her lover, then gritted her teeth as she quailed again.

"Oh for skies' sake, Marianne," she muttered fiercely to herself. "You managed to fly to his castle to _duel_ him, but you can't knock on his door to apologize to him? Get a grip on yourself, tough girl."

Something in her stomach fluttered at the sound of his pet name for her, even on her own lips. _(Would she ever hear it on_ his _lips_ _again?_ ) Shifting her feet and planting herself firmly, she quickly raised a hand and hit the door before she could lose her nerve once more.

There was no response from within.

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she knocked again with more resolve. This time, her answer was a low, irritable growl, heavy with menace, from inside. "I said I wasn't to be disturbed!"

Her whole body clenched, her palms slick with nervous perspiration. She swallowed then raised her own voice. "It's me, Bog."

The very air seemed to suddenly have the quality of a sword edge, dripping with danger and tension. There was silence for a moment, then Bog growled in a rough, threatening voice. "I don't have anything to say to you, Princess."

Marianne gave the door a little push; it had been barred from the other side. "Well, I do have some things I'd like to say to you, and I don't intend to leave until I do."

Something slammed into the other side of the door, causing Marianne to jump back with a startled flutter. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. Now get out of my castle!"

"So, come out and make me!"

"I just might, and I might rip your ridiculous fairy wings off while I'm at it!"

Marianne waited to see whether Bog would actually emerge or not. A long minute passed, the barred door still in her face, before it become clear that Bog was not going to make an appearance. Marianne sighed and leaned her forehead on the door, fighting her emotions. "I'm here to say that I'm sorry. I don't want to fight you. Please, what do I need to do to make things right between us again?"

Bog snarled audibly. "You don't know when to leave well enough alone. I'm beginning to see why your first boyfriend got sick of you and decided to dump you for another girl."

Marianne's temperature shot up a good ten degrees. It took all she had not to kick the door and scream something back at him that would definitely not help the situation. Instead, she gritted her teeth and turned her back on the door, leaning her head against the wood and running her fingers through her hair as she fought down her anger and shame. _He'll try to get under your skin, get you fighting with him again, but don't you let him bait you,_ Griselda had warned her. Marianne took several long, deep breaths, struggling to regain her composure. She knew he was trying to get back at her, to punch her in the same spot of insecurity that she'd punched him, but it did little to lessen the sting.

She sucked in another long breath, making sure her voice was steady. "I don't want to lose our relationship, Bog," she said, her back still pressed to the door as she stared up into the dark corridor. "It's only been twelve hours, and I already miss you so much."

She paused, but there was no answer from within. She continued, stroking her fingers absently over the rough wood of the door. "I…I love you so much, and I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for what I said. Our relationship means a lot to me, and I want to do whatever it takes to make it so we can be together again. We've already put in so much care to make this work, and I'd regret it for the rest of my life to lose you like this. You're not just my boyfriend, you're my best friend, and you're way too special to me to even think of just turning my back and leaving you here like this."

There was still no reply from Bog, not even a hiss or a scrape of claws. Marianne remembered Griselda's comment about Bog trying to shut her out when goading her failed. She tried to door again, but it was still barred. Sinking down to the floor, she drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. All she could do was keep talking, keep trying to break through to him. "When I was with Roland, I…I did love him. It was real enough love, but it was based only on what I saw outside. I loved his flashy white smile and his sparkily eyes, and skies, I even loved his stupid, floppy hair. But that was it.

"But with you, Bog, I love the entire person you are. I love that we can _talk_ to each other and it actually makes sense for once in my life, like I'm having a conversation with an actual person. There's never been anyone else in my life who I could talk to the way I can talk to you, not even Dawn. Please, don't give up on what we have, Bog. I know you're angry with me, and I know I deserve it, but we'll both lose so much that's beautiful and special if we give up on each other now. Come on, we went from trying to kill each other to singing each other love songs in the space of a single night once already – we can weather anything now, right, wild thing?"

The silence was so intense it stuck in her throat and burned. Tears oozed out of the corners of Marianne's eyes and traced lethargic paths clogged with mascara and eye shadow down her cheeks. Her chest felt on the verge of exploding with pent-up emotion. "Please, Bog," she whispered, her cheek against his door. "Please let me in. Please let me say I'm sorry to you."

She closed her eyes, squeezing her knees tighter with her arms.

" _Oh, I'm never gonna be the same again  
_ _Now I've seen the way it's got to end  
_ _Sweet dreams, sweet dreams_."

She was crying as much as singing now, tears dripping down into her lap, wings limp.

" _I got a strange magic  
_ _Oh, what a strange magic  
_ _Oh, it's a strange magic  
_ _I got a strange magic  
_ _I got a strange…_ "

Her voice broke. She sniffled loudly, drawing her fingers across her eyes, and huddled her full weight against the wood.

It creaked and shifted.

It took Marianne a moment to realize what had happened, that there was now a crack between the door and the wall, a precious sliver of promised entry. She had not heard anyone on the other side of the door, no sound of it being unbarred. She pushed more deliberately against it, half expecting to still meet resistance, that the sliver of hope was nothing but cruel mockery, but it opened further, allowing her to peek into the chamber beyond. Scrambling to her feet, Marianne turned to the door, and, still not sure what she would encounter on the other side, cautiously slid it open.

She'd been in Bog's private chambers a handful of times before. Like most goblin rooms, it was spare and utilitarian, roughly carved directly out of the raw wood. A few amber lanterns glowed from the ceiling and the walls were bare, undecorated except for natural marks in the wood and a patch of creeping ivy that had taken over most of one wall. There was a desk with paperwork in one corner, and Bog's nest, lined with moss and filled with downy feathers, took up most of the other side of the room. The main difference from most goblin rooms came from the large window opposite the door, large enough for Bog to fly in and out at his convenience.

And here at last, she found her goblin king.

His staff leaned crookedly against the wall beside the rough window frame. Bog himself was slumped against the side of the window, his back to the room and Marianne, his head lolled miserably against the frame. He looked broken and wretched, his tattered wings limp and lifeless, his long legs pulled up over the window sill, his shoulders hunched, and the shadows from the trees outside fell across him, making his scales look dark and dull.

Marianne hesitated at the sight of him, her heart jumping into her throat with a stew of conflicting feelings. The one that won out was a soft warmth that spread from her chest as she continued to gaze at him. Whatever anger, frustration, and hesitancy still lingered in her heart were eclipsed by a wash of love and the need to reconcile with this dear man, her friend, her lover, her goblin.

"Bog?" she said softly.

His shoulders flexed then hunched even more dramatically than before and his wings twitched for a moment, producing a quick, harsh buzzing sound. She walked slowly across the room to him. He didn't attempt to chase her away, but neither did he make the slightest effort to engage with her. Instead, he was still making a very obvious show of giving her the cold shoulder.

 _That door didn't unbar itself_ , she had to remind herself as she slid gingerly onto the sill beside him, close enough to touch him but far enough to give him room.

Her pride had kept pricking at her all the way to this moment, making her feel sick at the thought of humbling herself to offer him up an apology. After all, Bog owed _her_ an apology just as much as she owed him! Now that she was here though, the only thing that mattered was making this right once and for all. His hunched posture, his dropping wings, his hanging head – they all reminded her too vividly of how he had looked that night when he had admitted to her that he believed himself to be unlovable. This was her doing, and it was up to her to fix it.

"I would like to apologize to you, Bog. I don't want to fight with you anymore," she said steadily.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before disrespecting me in my own castle," Bog snapped, his head still turned deliberately away from her.

Marianne sighed. "I wasn't thinking. That was the problem."

Bog made a humphing sound. "You seem to do an awful lot of that, Princess," he replied, voice harsh and mocking. "What should I have expected from an air-headed, spoiled little fairy anyway?"

Marianne briefly felt the urge to snap back at him about impatient, hot-tempered goblin kings, but she pushed the feeling down, consciously choosing to not let his comment rile her. She gave a hollow, little laugh in return. "Well, my father and Dawn _have_ always pointed out that I tend to dive into things without thinking them all the way through…"

He snorted.

She laid her hands in her lap, staring down at them forlornly. "I couldn't stop thinking last night, about what it would be like to lose you and all this wonderful work we've put into the good relations between our kingdoms." She looked up at him. "Bog, I'm so sorry for hurting you like that. It was a terrible, cruel, low thing for me to say to you. I'm sorry."

She half-expected another biting retort, but he simply shifted his hips, looking uncomfortable. His face was still hidden from her at the angle he was holding his head. Instead, she let her gaze drift over his back and shoulders, following the complex, interlaced pattern of his scales. She longed to reach out and stroke him, but she wasn't sure it was right to do so without his permission. She'd stabbed him in his most vulnerable spot, torn apart the self-esteem he'd been slowly working on building up with her; it seemed wrong to satisfy herself by touching the very thing she'd insulted and used to hurt and degrade him.

"I didn't mean what I said," she whispered. "You _know_ I didn't mean it."

He shifted again, his wings making a slight rustle. When he spoke, his voice was empty and hoarse instead of sharp and bitter. "Yes, you did," he said. "I know. It's when we're angry that we say the things we mean the most."

Marianne considered his words for a moment. "You're right," she answered, and she saw his shoulders and head slump with despair. "I did mean it," she said, more confidently now. "In that, I _meant_ to hurt you. I was so angry I was willing to say whatever would hurt you the most, whether or not it was remotely true." Her voice softened again. "But you know I don't believe what I said."

Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. "May I touch you?" she asked quietly.

He gave a little grunt and the back of his head bobbed slightly. Sucking in her breath, Marianne brushed the tips of her fingers across his scales, the bark-like texture familiar under her skin. She followed the grooves of his spurs, and he shivered a little as she trailed them down the sensitive inner slope of his shoulders towards his neck. He didn't attempt to respond to her touch, but neither did he pull away. Marianne decided to take that as a good sign and pulled herself closer, reaching her arms around him to pull herself up against his back. His body was warm, and his scales had a slight give to them that hinted at the musculature underneath. She buried her face in his back, breathing in his earthy musk, and kissed him gently between his shoulders. He gave a little shudder as she kissed him again and stroked his chest plates.

"Marianne…" he whispered.

"Bog," she murmured back, pulling herself up to kiss the back of his neck beneath his tapered ear. He tipped his head ever so slightly, giving her better access, and turned his head so that for the first time she caught a tantalizing glimpse of one blue eye. She laid her chin on his shoulder. "I love you, everything about you, more than I knew I could love. I'm so sorry for breaking the trust you had in me. Please, can you forgive me?"

She could feel him resisting, his muscles tense against her, his head still turned just far enough away to reject her. He was trembling. Marianne nuzzled against his neck, nipping gently at his leathery skin like a goblin, and kissed him again, hard and unyielding against his pulse. He growled a little, and she lifted her head, her cheek against his. "Come on," she purred in his ear. "What can I do to heal this?" She rubbed her cheek against his, then smirked. "You want to duel it out, Bog? Would landing a few hard-earned blows on me make you feel better? Winner gets to choose any song they want the loser to perform for them?"

She felt the moment he finally gave in. A long, slow huff worked its way through his entire body and then he shifted, pulling out of her arms. But it was only to turn himself around on the window sill, facing her fully at last. He looked tired and haggard, the skin around his eyes darker than usual. With a hitch in her chest, Marianne realized his eyes were tinted with red and there were visible tear streaks still glistening on his cheeks. It hurt to know that she had made someone as fierce and regal as the Bog King cry.

Tenderness swelling in her breast, she lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, gently wiping her thumbs underneath his eyes. She turned herself so that she could settle comfortably into his arms. He allowed her to lean against him, and when she kissed his jaw, nuzzling his face fondly with her own, he heaved another shuddering sigh and slid his own arms around her to cradle her against himself. "You really aren't going to give up until I give in, are you?" he asked wearily, though his voice wasn't half as bitter as it had been.

Marianne kissed the hollow of his throat and felt him lean into her caress. "I'm absolutely relentless," she purred in answer, drawing her hands up his chest to hook them over his shoulders.

He gave a tired chuckle. "So I see." He bent over, and a moment later she felt his angular face pressed into her hair. He squeezed her tighter, stroking the back of her shoulders as he took a deep, deep breath. He released it. "All right, I forgive you, Marianne."

They were quiet for several slow heartbeats, then he lifted his head, his hand still tracing gentle patterns against her bare shoulders and causing ripples of pleasant warmth to cascade down her body. When he spoke, his voice sounded resigned. "I suppose I should ask your forgiveness as well." He was quiet for a moment. "I was being a jerk to you. I shouldn't have said the things I said to you either, and I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I…I should have listened and paid attention to what you were trying to tell me without letting my own worries and doubts get in the way. I shouldn't have projected that on to you."

"And I should have given you space and not gotten angry at you," Marianne answered from the warm crook of his arms. "But I'm a bit sensitive about being pushed aside and treated like my opinions don't matter or that I don't know what I'm talking about."

He sighed in defeat. "I know. And I…I don't want to be that sort of man, Marianne. You know I respect you and care about what you have to say, and I'm sorry for treating you that way. I don't want to ever make you feel like your ideas aren't important. And I'm sorry for threatening you yesterday, and I'm sorry for that comment about you being dumped. I probably deserved what you said to me anyway, with the way I was acting. I'm so sorry, Marianne. Can you forgive me?"

Marianne pulled far enough away from him that she could look him full in the face. She traced his cheek lovingly as she spoke. "Yes. Yes, I forgive you, Bog."

He attempted a smile, but his eyes were still red-rimmed and there was a broken look in them. Marianne tilted his chin up with her fingertips when he avoided her direct gaze. "And Bog," she said firmly, "you didn't deserve what I said to you. No matter how big a jerk you might have been at the time, it doesn't mean you ever deserved to be hurt like that. It was completely and utterly uncalled for, and I'm sorry." She caressed him fondly. "And you know I think you're absolutely gorgeous."

He blushed, his eyes dropping, but she caught the little, pleased smile he couldn't quite conceal. "Keep up that kind of talk," he said bashfully, "and I'll be conceited in no time."

Marianne laughed, draping her arms all the way around his shoulders so that their noses bumped together. "I've dealt with conceited before, and trust me, Bog, you are nowhere even close."

He smiled, shy and mischievous all at once, and she saw the Bog she knew and loved peeking out from under the shell. He drew the tips of his claws along the outside of her face, leaving a tingling trail of pleasure in their wake, warmth returning to his blue eyes as he gazed at her adoringly. "Oh tough girl, what would I do without you?"

And at that, at the sound of his familiar pet name for her, she knew everything was back to normal between the two of them.

Their kiss started out slow and shy, reaffirming their love for one another with the soft press of his lips upon hers. It deepened as their hurts melted into a moment of present bliss and love, and with a soft growl, Bog pulled both of them back and down, reclining against the mossy seat with Marianne settled in his arms. They kissed leisurely, lips warm and alive against each other, hands stroking the familiar landscape of the other's back and shoulders, bodies welcoming and yielding in turn. Once they were fully sated, they rested together, Marianne with her head upon Bog's chest, his arm draped protectively around her back.

"I was starting to think you were going to make me break down that door to get to you," Marianne murmured, cheek pressed against Bog's plastron. "Don't think I wouldn't have too."

Bog chuckled. "I believe you. But you do know you could have just flown through my window, right?"

Marianne considered this with pursed lips, then shrugged. "Knocking down the door would have been more my style." She thought a little longer, then tilted her head to look up into his face. "But if you'd really wanted to get away from me, why didn't _you_ fly out the window when I was talking? I probably would have never been able to track you down out there. For that matter, why didn't you just fly off this morning like all your goblins said you'd done?"

Bog's cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, and he glanced away. "I…I might have been sort of hoping that you'd come and find me. I also might have been sort of hoping you'd get me to forgive you."

Marianne couldn't help but laugh at that. "Oh, you dork, I love you." She pulled him down to kiss his lips again, curling her hand around the back of his head and pressing up into him with a deep satisfying caress.

When she released him, she returned her cheek to his chest. As she listened to his quiet heartbeat, Griselda's words resurfaced in her mind. _You make that boy feel wanted and special, and you'll have his heart back in no time._ That she'd won Bog's heart back there was no doubt, but at the same time, she knew that there were consequences from their fight that would not simply dissolve with a kiss. Her cruel words had probably unraveled weeks, if not months, of the hard work both she and Bog had been putting into building up his self-esteem. She owed it to him to help him get his footing again, and perhaps even undo a part of the damage she'd inflicted. As she lay there, keenly aware of his fingers moving against her back, an idea presented itself to her.

She lifted her head. "Are you busy tonight?"

He raised a leafy eyebrow. "I take it I am now…?"

She flicked his nose fondly at his flippant tone. "I have something special I'd very much like for the two of us to do tonight."


	4. Part IV

Part IV

Marianne's anticipation for the night to come was a warm, soft bloom unfurling in her stomach that sent tingling tendrils all the way down to her fingertips and her toes. Her heart raced with eagerness. Perched on top of an old tree stump on the border between the Fairy Meadows and the Dark Forest, she pondered how Bog would respond to what she had planned for him, yearning with all her heart that he would enjoy this special night as much as she hoped he would.

They had agreed to meet at the border at moonrise. Marianne had arrived first, just as the silver light of the moon was peeking through the dark branches of the forest, a pack slung around her middle containing everything she'd need for the night. Every shiver of shadowy movement beneath the trees, every rustle and buzz, set her heart thumping with expectancy, her entire body aching with the desire to see him. No more than a few minutes could have passed however before the familiar whir of dragonfly-like wings brushed against her senses, and then Bog was materializing from the darkness of his realm to land before her, the arch that led back into the forest framing him and the moonlight glancing with a hoary glow off his carapace.

Marianne felt her cheeks flush at the sight of him. "Hey," she said.

His fingers crackled as he squeezed them around the shaft of his scepter. "Hey."

She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. "So, are you ready?"

He swept his lithe body into a graceful bow, one hand extended in invitation. "The stage is all yours, Princess. Lead the way."

She opened her wings, and smiled at how his eyes strayed to the purple canopy. Taking his free hand in hers, she squeezed it. "This way, Your Majesty."

Together, they took to the air and the night wrapped itself around them.

The place she sought was one of the few in her own kingdom that she had yet to share with her lover. She had been there just a handful of times herself, only during the day, and never for the reason that drew most of her folk to its embrace.

The stream that flowed through the middle of the Fairy Meadows cascaded down several steps into a small, intimate pool surrounded by luminous moonflowers that were just beginning to open when Marianne and Bog arrived. On the far side of the waterfall, a smooth, mossy slope led directly down into the clear water. Several paces from the water's edge, a large, flat stone covered in creeping moss lay dark and still in the moonlight. The chirr of summer insects mixed lazily with the sensual patter and ripple of the water, sending shivers down Marianne's spine as her feet touched down on the soft, sandy earth.

It was a favorite haunt of young fairy couples, especially on nights like this when the moonlight was bright and the air was cool after the day's heat. Once, Marianne had fostered the hope that Roland might bring her here some evening at a full moon, but as she led Bog down towards the pool she found herself grateful that the magical place was unspoiled, a white parchment on her heart where she and Bog could write their own story.

She glanced over at her lover, curious to see his first impression of the place. He looked intrigued, as he always did when she showed him some new facet of her kingdom, his eyes glancing back and forth to take in the whole scene, his lips parted slightly as he breathed, the tips of his fangs glistening. Sensing her observation of him, his gaze flickered back to hers, his head tilting slightly with cautious curiosity as he awaited her lead, clearly unsure what she had planned.

She slipped her hand up the rough scales of his side and slid her fingers over his lower back in a loose embrace, then pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. "How do you feel about taking a dip?"

He eyed the water and then her, a question clear in his raised brow. Slowly, he leaned his staff against a stone and approached the pool, his feet making a soft _crunch, crunch_ in the sandy soil, then he waded in until he was up to his middle. He turned then, ripples of dark, star-studded water swirling around his waist, his wings trailing behind him like a gossamer cape. "You joining me, tough girl?"

Marianne felt the urge sweep through her to chase him out into the water, throw herself onto him, and feel the glorious moment when they both plunged sideways, clasped in one another's embrace, even though, like most fairies, she could barely swim and her wings would be sodden and useless for hours afterward. She resisted, returning his playful smile instead. "I have a few things left to get done before I give you the night of your life. Wet yourself all down, and enjoy your swim. I'll be right back."

He sank languidly backwards until he was floating in the undulating water. His voice was nothing short of a purr. "I'll be waiting."

The scenic romance of the pool was one of the reasons the place made a perfect destination for a moonlit date. The flat, mossy stone by the bank was another. But it was the third reason that Marianne sought out now.

The scent of lavender sprigs wafted through the tall grass, guiding Marianne to a small, nearby grove filled with the purple stalks. Reaching into her pack, she pulled out a glass jar she'd brought with her from the palace and set it on the ground beside her. She paused for a moment to close her eyes and take in the night, the soft brush of the evening air, and the heady scent of the flowers surrounding her. Carefully, she drew her sword and opened her eyes, weighing the familiar heft of her blade lightly in one hand, then let it flick out, severing one of the lavender stalks.

Several large aloe plants squatted at the edge of the grove on the far side of the lavender bushes. Marianne's sword flickered out again, slicing off the tip of one of the bulging leaves. Carefully cradling the oozing leaf so as not to waste any of the creamy gel inside, Marianne flitted back to her jar and the waiting sprigs of cut lavender.

Though the idea of sharing this place with Bog had come to Marianne that morning, carrying out her plan had required a few questions, which she had put to Griselda that afternoon once she'd left Bog's chambers. For fairies, the aloe gel made a soothing salve that softened a fey's skin to silk and eased the tension of wound-up nerves and muscles. However, Bog's chitinous scales were a different story.

Still, Griselda's eyes had lit up as Marianne explained her idea. The Queen Mother had looked on the verge of giving Marianne an enthusiastic goblin hug. "Oh, I think that's a lovely idea, sweetie," she'd gushed delightedly. "That boy isn't going to know what hit him. If he wasn't already smack-gob dizzy, head-over-heels in love with you, he'd have no chance."

Marianne opened her mouth, but Griselda tapped her lips before she could take in a breath to speak. "The salve probably won't have the exact same effect on him as it would on you, dearie, but it certainly won't do him a lick of harm. I used to use a salve like that on him all the time when he was molting as a baby, and it took care of the itching and dryness every time."

She shook a finger meaningfully at Marianne. "I can guarantee the only thing you'll have trouble with is that boy going all shy on you when you let him in on the secret, but don't you dare let him weasel his way out of this one. Lordy knows just how much he needs the truth about himself knocked into that thick pinecone of a skull!"

Marianne could not help but smirk at the memory. Finished, she scooped up the jar and flew back through the tall grass to the pool.

Bog was swimming in leisurely circles, wings beating lightly at the water, his body dark and graceful in the moonlight. Marianne paused at the edge of the clearing, the jar clutched tight to her chest, mesmerized by the sight of him as heat rose in her cheeks and breast and a thrill quivered through her core. Just then, Bog glanced up and his eyes fell on her. He rose to his feet, the water gliding off his scales in a thousand silver rivulets. Wet, his carapace looked darker than usual, almost black, and the water droplets clinging to his wings made them glisten as if they were encrusted with diamonds. Marianne felt her heart leap into her throat at how beautiful he looked.

She swallowed, suddenly feeling flustered. "I'm all ready, Your Majesty," she said, brushing her hair back self-consciously. "Time for the main event."

He waded out of the water, shaking himself, wings flared, sending the droplets flying. He looked mildly unsure of himself now as he approached her, his fingers twitching uncertainly as she reached out to take him by the hand. His claws brushed against her skin as their fingers twined.

Spreading her wings, she rose into the air, fluttering backwards and pulling him along by the hands towards the mossy stone. His expression had melted into something vulnerable and shy, but there was trust in his eyes as he kept his gaze locked with hers, allowing her to pull him forward. When they arrived, his eyes traveled over the stone and the glass jar, and she saw the moment when they went wide and impossibly blue with understanding. A flicker of nervous apprehension and embarrassment crossed his face and his eyes dropped down. His hand tugged a little against hers, as if his instinct was to pull away and step back.

"Ah…Ah dorn't…ye dorn't have to do this fer me, Marianne," he said in a small voice, his accent thickening with nerves. "Ah wouldnae ever ask fer somethin' like this."

"I know you wouldn't." She leaned in to kiss his cheek. "That's why I'm doing it." When he started to protest, she put a finger on his lips. "Please let me do this for you, Bog. I messed up big time yesterday, and I left you feeling miserable and alone as a result. Let me make you feel wonderful now."

He closed his eyes and cupped her hand with his own over his cheek, pressing his face to her skin. She could feel him trembling as he turned his face to kiss the inside of her palm. She wrapped her other arm around his neck, leaning in close to him, her body pressed against his. "Come on, Bog King," she whispered to him. "Let me give you this night."

"All right," he said hoarsely. "I'm yours, Marianne."

She laid him gently down on the stone, settling him onto his stomach in the soft padding of moss. Even so, his feet still hung off the end, but they both laughed shyly over it before adjusting themselves into mutually comfortable positions, Bog with his head propped up on a roll of moss so that he could breathe easily, Marianne kneeling beside him on the ground.

She unscrewed the glass jar, releasing the sweet smell of aloe and lavender. She dipped in both hands in turn, until every finger was dripping with the aromatic cream, then turned back to her lover. She paused for a second, feeling her heart skipping a fevered beat in her chest and throat, allowing her eyes to slide down the entire length of his body, taking him all in. They had cuddled, kissed, and flirted, but she had never touched him quite so intimately as this, and her nerves hummed inside her with anticipation and uncertainty.

Slowly, lovingly, fingers tingling and heart racing, she set to work.

She started at his neck, working the lotion into every scale and curve of his long, lithe form. She took her time, caressing every ridge of him in turn and sliding her slender fingers up and under each joint of his scales to rub the oil into the sensitive places where his plates joined to his body. She could feel the rippling musculature underneath his second skin as her fingers dug down, kneading and stroking in turn to make sure he felt it throughout his whole frame. Her fingers glided and rubbed over the magnificent curves of his shoulder spurs, causing them to flare and rustle, then slid slowly over the layers of his collar and the back of his shoulders underneath the spurs. Down her fingers worked, and she fondled the bases of each of his wings and stroked down the entire shaft to his wingtips, and he shuddered long and slow when she took extra care to rub firmly down each joint of his spine.

At first, she could feel the tension in his body, taut as a bowstring as she stroked him, and he was stiff and nervous under her fingers, twitching every now and then whenever her hands glided over a particularly sensitive spot. From her position behind him, she couldn't see his face, but it was clear he was uncomfortable having his body under such close scrutiny. Still, he lay prone and compliant for her and she did not stop, but caressed him gently, loving him with her hands and fingers and pouring out her adoration for him with every touch. Slowly, as the oil did its soothing work and Bog began to let down his guard, she felt him relax bit by bit until he was entirely limp and tranquil under her administrations. She smiled and leaned over him, kissing him between his wings until he shivered and whimpered with pleasure, as she continued to stroke up and down his sides.

Once she had finished with his back, she returned to her place by his head. He was resting his chin on the edge of the stone but he pushed himself up and looked at her when she knelt before him. His eyes were wide, and he had an almost bewildered expression on his face as he gazed up at her in awe. She drew her fingertips along his jaw and he closed his eyes with a shuddery breath, leaning into her touch. "How is my king doing?" she asked fondly as she continued to pet his face.

His eyes flickered open, and there was a childlike wonder in them. "I've never felt like this before," he whispered. "No one's ever done anything like this for me."

She kissed his forehead. "But you like it?"

He touched her cheek, eyes glistening. "You make me feel like the stars, Marianne."

She smiled, nuzzling her face against his. "Well, we're only half way done. Will you roll over for me, please?"

His brows rose in surprise for a moment, but soon he was maneuvering himself onto his back with her help. His wings were not as flexible as hers, but they managed together to get him into a comfortable position flat on his back. He looked nervous again as she began to massage the lapels of his carapace. His throat bobbed under her fingers as he swallowed. Now that he was on his back, he was able to watch her work, and she was very much aware of his awed gaze as she lavished attention on his body.

He gave a little twitch as she slid her dripping fingers down between the folds of his collar. She glanced up at him, still rubbing him lightly. "Does it feel good?" she asked him.

He blushed, lowering his eyes. "Aye, it feels wonderful."

"But?" Marianne urged gently.

He shifted, looking embarrassed. "I've never been comfortable in my own skin," he admitted in a barely audible voice, "not even as a child. And I've never been so aware of my skin as I am right now."

Marianne smiled fondly then leaned over to peck his lips and rub her nose softly against his thin cheek. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

He nuzzled her back, his long nose and the sharp line of his cheekbone rubbing against her face. "I know. I know it, Marianne, but twelve years and more doesn't vanish in a heartbeat." He smiled. "Even if that heart is beating fit to burst." He paused for a moment. "Which it absolutely is."

She spread her fingers over his chest, and even through the tough chitin of his second skin, she could feel the throb of his heart underneath. She looked back at him with eyes of liquid honey and starlight, taking him all in. "You're the most beautiful creature in the Forest," she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

He blushed furiously, eyes instantly dropping away from hers. His fingers worked nervously, helpless without his staff to clutch. "Being 'not hideous' is one thing," he muttered, clearly embarrassed. "Being… _that_ …is something else entirely."

Marianne smirked, pleased at seeing her darling goblin so sweetly flustered. "Yes, it is indeed something else entirely," she conceded with a coy twist of her lips.

He put a hand over his face, covering his blush with long fingers. "Anyway, I can't be the _most_ beautiful creature in the Forest, 'cus _you_ spend most of your time there now too."

She laughed and kissed the back of the hand that was still hiding his face. "That's the corniest line I've heard from you in a while, you handsome cheeseball." She pulled on his hand. "Now lay back down and behave yourself for two seconds, won't you? I still have your entire front to finish."

"You're the one who started it," he mumbled under his breath, but he relented and settled himself back down. "But OK, Your Highness, if you insist."

"That I most definitely do," Marianne purred in his ear as she started up again, kneading her fingers into his chest plates. He gave a sharp gasp of pleasure, his fingers curling tightly into the moss beneath him, his eyes fluttering closed.

She worked leisurely down the sharp angle of his chest, over the intricate layers of his collar and down onto the slope of the overlapping scales that covered his stomach. Gliding her fingers carefully over the hard, sharp spurs that curved back from his hips, she slid her hands down the outside of his thighs and rubbed the muscles of his shins and dragged her nails over the thorny casing of his calves. His eyes remained tightly shut, fingers digging down into the padding of his resting spot, his expressions flashing from pleasure to bewildered happiness to a serene contentment that made Marianne's insides turn gooey and warm.

Finally, she reached the very end of him. Dipping her fingers into the creamy gel one last time, she rubbed it all over his large, flat feet, massaging each of his clawed toes until they curled of their own accord, then stroking the tip of her fingers down the arch of each foot, which made him shiver and dig his fingers deeper into the moss. At the very end, she leaned over, cradling his foot, and kissed the bridge of it, sealing this gift that she had given to him.

"All finished," she whispered.

He sat up, still looking half in a trance, and ran his fingers over his chest and stomach, pleasured surprise registering on his expressive face. "I'm so _soft_ ," he said in a voice filled with such amazed wonder that Marianne could not hide her pleased smile. "I haven't felt this soft and loose since my last molt." He looked up at her, a shy, boyish grin crossing his face, the moonlight giving his blue eyes a silvery sheen. "I can already tell I'm going to sleep better tonight than I have in years."

He reached out and took her hand, cradling it with tender bashfulness. The skin along his cheekbones flushed a deep crimson yet again as he swallowed. "If you like, I can…I mean…would…would you like to take a turn now?"

Marianne smiled thinly. Without warning, she plopped down across his lap, hooking her fingers over his shoulders between his neck and spurs, legs straddling his hips. Hmmm, he was right, she thought as she settled herself, he _was_ softer than she'd ever felt him before, and dear _skies_ but he smelled good.

She traced her fingers along his neck. "Not tonight," she answered him gently. "Tonight, I want this all to be about you, to show you how I really feel about you and how much I love touching you and seeing you and just being here with you." She leaned forward, wrapping her arms completely around him and reclining against him until they were chest to chest, her head tucked under the sculpted curve of his jaw. He responded by slipping both arms around her middle, cradling her closer to himself. She melted into his embrace. "However, some other night, I am totally going to take you up on that offer."

His laugh was warm, like sunlight trickling over her shoulders. "I'm already looking forward to it."

They remained in their embrace for a long, slow measure, neither willing to break the moment, both savoring the company of their beloved, no kisses or caresses needed beyond the beating of two hearts as one. But finally, Marianne pulled away from him and stroked his jaw, fingers sliding up and down the thorny slope. "I want you to see how you look," she said.

The uncertainty instantly returned to his eyes, and his fingers twitched against her back. "I don't know…"

She put her fingers over his lips, silencing him. "I do." She slid off his lap and pulled him up after her. His eyes were wary, but he made no protest as she led him back towards the water.

They stopped at the water's edge, and Marianne pushed him forward until the soft ripples from the waterfall lapped at his feet. She stepped up beside him. "Look," she urged softly.

He stared down at his reflection glimmering in the water below them. His carapace gleamed with a silver-grey glow, the oil giving him a glorious, glossy sheen, backlit brilliantly by the moonlight streaming through the tangled branches above the hollow. He swallowed. "I- I look… I look…"

Marianne put a hand on his arm and rubbed him gently, leaning into his side. "Beautiful," she whispered. "The word you're searching for is _beautiful_."

He looked at her then, his eyes brimming with shy gratitude and adoration, his cheeks still flushed that perfect crimson tint. "Yeah," he said bashfully. He swallowed again, clearly overwhelmed. "Yeah."

She rose on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw then leaned her cheek against his. "Go ahead and say it," she encouraged in a quiet voice.

He looked back down at his reflection, at _their_ reflection. "I look beautiful," he whispered in an awed voice.

"Yes, you do," she answered with a smug smile.

He squeezed her hand and met her eyes in the mirror of water. " _We_ look beautiful," he whispered.

"Yes, we do," she said, and this time, when she turned her face up to his, it was his lips she kissed, long and sweet and deep. He enveloped her in his arms, stroking a hand down her shoulder and past her wings, and kissed her in return with blissful abandon.

When they parted for breath, she pressed her face to the side of his neck, heart reeling with love, and he held her to him, his whole frame trembling with the strength of his ardor. "You didn't have to do this for me," he whispered. "I'd already forgiven you. You didn't have to do this to make me love you."

"I know," she replied firmly. "I did it because I wanted to do this for you. Because there's no one else in my life like you and I wanted you to feel special. Because I wanted you to be able to see yourself the way I see you every day. Because I'm madly in love with you, Bog, and I don't want you to doubt it for a second."

He made a choking sound and pressed his face to her hair, and the feel of his jawline and the ridge of his cheek and the curve of his nose against her was intoxicating. "Thank you, Marianne," he choked out, voice thick with stunned emotion. "I-I don't have words to thank you enough for this. Just, thank you, thank you so much, and I love you, tough girl."

"I love you more."

"I love you most."

They both giggled. She cupped his face in her hands, rubbing along his cheekbones with her thumbs, and he held her tenderly around her waist as she stared deep into his eyes. The water rippled at their feet like liquid silver.

They sat down together at the edge of the water, feet dangling into the pool, cuddled in one another's arms. He rubbed her back gently, their faces leaned together. The unusual softness of his scales mingled with the sweet scent of aloe and lavender, overwhelming Marianne's senses with a rush of pleasant sensations.

After a while, Bog shifted, turning himself to face Marianne, eyes lowered self-consciously. He squeezed her hand. "Thank you again," he said softly. "I…you have no idea how much this has meant to me."

He turned his head, looking out over the water. "Last night, I…I didn't know I could hurt that much." His fingers curled into a ball in his lap. "I knew deep down that you were just angry, that we'd both said things we shouldn't have said, but I was so afraid. I…I was afraid you had said what you really felt, deep down. I was afraid that what I'd feared all along was true: that you were just putting up with me, with how ugly I was, and that you were finally getting tired of me and couldn't bear my hideousness any longer."

His eyes squeezed shut with pain. "I felt so ugly again, and it was all the worse for having thought for a little while that maybe, _just maybe_ , I wasn't so disgusting after all. It's always hurt – thinking I was hideous – but to hear _you_ say it…" He swallowed painfully. "It was like having my world torn to pieces, like having my scales pried up one by one and ripped off. I thought you'd never want to see me again."

His voice broke, and when Marianne looked at him, there were tears streaming down his cheeks. Her heart lurched, and she realized there were tears pouring down her cheeks as well. She huddled closer to him, and he wrapped his arms tightly about her, pressing his face down into her hair, trembling all over. "I'm so sorry for doing that to you, Bog," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

He cupped her face in the palms of his hands, his face still wet with tears. "I know," he said, "and I forgive you. It's all in the past now. And this night has made up for the last one in every way." He kissed her softly and she sighed against his lips. His claws tickled against her cheeks. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I've never felt so beautiful and loved as you've made me feel this night, Marianne."

She smiled through her tears at him. "Then let me make you feel this way every day as long as we have together."

He smirked and bumped his nose against hers. "Who's being a cheeseball now?"

She laughed and wiped the tears off his cheeks. "Oh skies, I love you so much, Bog."

They watched the water fall over the rocks with its musical burble until Bog gave her shoulders a fond squeeze. "I suppose we're going to have to finish that conversation about the festival sooner or later, aren't we? I promise I'll listen to whatever you have to say this time around."

"And I promise I'll consider what you're offering this time around," Marianne answered, squeezing his narrow waist in return. "A collaboration between the two kingdoms is going to shake things up no matter what we do, and we might as well figure out how to take the plunge. But let's not let all of that get in the way right now."

"No, not right now," he answered, smiling. "Now, I suppose, there are much better things to do."

She tapped his nose. "Exactly."

It was not long at all before Marianne and the Bog King were lost to the world in a passionate lover's kiss.

Tea Blend


End file.
